29 May 2011

I used to like this girl in my 9th grade Geometry class. She was the prettiest, smartest girl I ever knew (until I met this other girl in my 10th grade English class, and then, in P.E. after I dropped out of football second semester...). One day, I overheard some of my classmates talking to her, asking who she would like. They pointed to me. A flash of shy hopefulness was soon replaced by horror, as I saw her face twist in disgust,

"Ew, I hate sideburns."

That night I shaved off my sideburns and the next day I strolled into class proud, and, once again, hopeful. During group time she walked over to my desk, and I was elated. My sideburns are gone, I thought, surely she'd like me now.

"John, listen to me. Don't ever change who you are for a girl. Do you hear me? Never change who you are for another person."

A girl like that, strong enough and wise enough to know the power that she held, and that's why I liked her. I told myself from that day forward (because I tend to tell myself things like this) that a girl has to like me first, and then I can change. People wonder why I'm a Snape with my outfits, why I shave my head and grow out my beard. I thought it was obvious. It is tiresome to be always and forever explaining things.

C: Just because you're beautiful, doesn't mean that you can treat people like they don't matter. I mean, I really like you. Okay? ... I learned French for you!

The hopelessly romantic double-edged sword. You can't convince her to fall out of love, and just the same, you can't convince her to fall into love. All you can do is hope to be on the right side of arbitrary. We confuse desire for ideal, and presumption with destiny.

19 May 2011

We are moving out of our New Haven apartment on Saturday. I am emotionally unprepared for leaving this place. I've been coding all day everyday for the past few weeks. I haven't even had a chance to say my goodbyes.

"For us to have a chance to win, you cannot afford to get tired." — Erik Spoelstra, head coach of the Miami Heat, to star LeBron James. James scored 29 points and grabbed 10 rebounds in the Heat's 85—75 playoff win over the Chicago Bulls

17 May 2011

I found myself crying while I ran today. I wonder if people could tell. If they could distinguish my tears from my sweat. If they could run litmus paper underneath my path and see the color gradient run red.

I was listening to How He Loves and I realized how much I had forgotten, and how little I knew. I have this problem. It's called sin. And it's insatiable. I have this emptiness that's never filled, and try as I might, I always find myself craving more. It's like drinking coke after a run. It tastes good, but it dries the mouth, and dehydrates the soul. I'm thirsty. I'm parched. And I'm dying.

This is my blog for my honest thoughts. I write in my tumblr for people. I write on my blogspot for me. But whenever I preach, no matter the topic, I'm always preaching to myself. Always, always, always, preaching to myself. God loves me. How could I forget? How could I not know? How could I continue to run, gasping for breath, dying of thirst, and not realize how He is the one who sustains me, fuels me, and drives me. That He is the one who brings me through, delivers me, and makes a way.

For he will command his angels concerning you

to guard you in all your ways.

On their hands they will bear you up,

lest you strike your foot against a stone.

You will tread on the lion and the adder;

the young lion and the serpent you will trample underfoot.

-- Psalm 91:11-13

This speaks about Jesus. But Jesus speaks about us.

I have terrible sins I want to confess. But I know that there's rules about this. Social protocol. Ways to let people know. Wisdom in how to do it. But it's just so hard to know who to tell what and why. I dislike when I hear someone confessing a sin that makes them look good. That small twist and turn that says, "Yeah, I'm bad, but look at how good I am because I know I'm bad." I don't want to be that person. But neither do I want to be the self-pitying monster with the ugly insides. Neither do I want my quiet desperation to overtake and overcome me.

I just want to love, and to be loved. But my love is twisted, ugly, and bad. So, friend, if you've read this far, please pray for me--that I realize that only God loves me this way, that He is all I need, and that I seek, long for and desire None But Jesus.

I've always been fascinated by the idea of language isolates. I wish I had taken more Linguistics classes in college (I only took one on Cryptography). Every so often, usually when I'm high on caffeine, I will peruse wikipedia for information on the theories different scholars have about the origins of language and how that relates to historical migrations of tribes and nations, contact between cultures, and conquering and conquered people groups. I love pouring over world maps depicting the different proposed language groups, their size, population, age, and variation. The theories hold that the more languages there are, the older the group--with the number of languages in certain parts of Africa being in the thousands, while in Central and South America arguably only having maybe 50 to 100 distinct languages.

I am fascinated by the idea of language isolates because languages are so profoundly attached to groups of people that they, like the people who speak life into them, can die. I read an article once about one man's quest to write down and record the speech of the last living native speakers of dying languages--cultures, and peoples. They are the last of their kind. He will have them sing, and dance, and tell their legends. They will explain concepts which have no names in other languages, and distinguish sounds which we cannot hear. With each word is the history of a people, long past, stories untold. I've always felt like one of a kind--I mean, aren't we all? And so the story of being the last of a kind--the final breathing member of a tribe long gone whose glory has long since faded--has always resonated with me. As if I were descended from some great people, and within me slept unbridled, brilliant power just waiting to be woken up...

06 May 2011

I should plot them out on a graph. I drank a lot of caffeine this week. I spent nearly every waking hour writing code or thinking about code. I am exhausted in all ways. I wonder when I'll receive my break.

03 May 2011

"Bin Laden had religious zeal that we don't have; America has a national spirit, and we don't have that either." -- A Chinese online commentator, writing on Weibo, China's most popular microblogging site, while watching Americans celebrate the death of al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden